


In the Twilight

by MrProphet



Category: The Edge Chronicles - Paul Stewart & Chris Riddell
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 23:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10707819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet





	In the Twilight

Jathia Laquilas straightened her robes and double-checked the fastenings. The garments were woven from woodmoth silk and they slithered across Jathia’s tildergut undergarments in a manner that was not entirely unpleasant.

Beneath the skirts of the robe, she wore woodmoth silk breeches which were stitched to the robe at the waist and fastened to the tops of her leather boots with a heavy seal of gyleglue rubber. Similar seals joined her gloves to her sleeves and her skullpelt helm – which as yet rested on the table in her study – also had a rubber skirt to attach it to the neck of her garment.

It had taken her the best part of an hour to dress and would take at least as long to get out of the robes without destroying them.

“Uh-whuh huh-wuh?”

Jathia looked up at her teacher, the wise old banderbear Uffle. His small ears were lowered in concern and his tusked face was creased in fear. While banderbears were not naturally inclined towards academic studies, Uffle had taken to it from an early age, studying first in an isolated tower in the Deepwoods and more recently in the Library of the Freeglades.

Jathia had been taken in by Uffle when she was just a child. He had found her wandering in the woods and raised her almost as his own. He had come to the Freeglades for her sake, so that she could be among her own kind. She had flourished academically, but never really adapted to company. She still preferred the solitude of her own study, or of Uffle’s chambers.

“Huh-wuh?” Uffle asked again.

“Of course I’m not sure,” she replied. “If I was sure, I wouldn’t need to test it, but the theory is sound.”

“Whuh-uh.”

“I know, and it’s very sweet,” Jathia assured him, “but it’s my choice. Anyway, I’ll have Jekkel to look after me.”

Uffle was clearly not satisfied with this arrangement and said so in no uncertain terms.

“You worry too much,” Jathia told him. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his furry cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it, safe and sound.” She buckled on her tool belt, picked up her helmet and headed for the stairs.

*

Jathia hurried up to the flight gantries. Her own sky-craft was tethered on the outermost gantry. She swung out onto the gantry and reached for the tether.

With a soft clatter, a prowlgrin dropped onto the gantry. Its broad toes gripped the wood and its broad mouth gaped an inch from Jathia’s face. She recoiled and almost lost her grip on the gantry.

“Careful, Jathia!” the prowlgrin’s rider laughed. He clicked his tongue and his mount sprang over her head.

Jathia lost her grip and she fell, but the rider caught her across his saddle. The helmet slipped from her hand and she scrabbled after it, ending up in an undignified sprawl over the saddle.

“Up Dannez!”

“Curse it, Grif!” she snarled. She struggled, but he caught hold of her belt and held her fast as the prowlgrin sprang on again.

“Just hold tight, Jath!” Griffin Gilijan called cheerfully. “Soon have you safe on solid ground.”

“Don’t you dare!” Jathia snapped.

Dannez landed with a thump and Griffin dumped Jathia back onto her feet. With some relief she realised that she was at least still on the platform.

“Well,” Griffin asked.

“Well what?”

“Don’t I get a kiss for saving your life?”

Jathia harrumphed. “If you’re lucky I won’t report you to your branch commander for putting me in danger in the first place. I never would have fallen if you hadn’t been prancing about on my gantry.”

Griffin looked crestfallen. The handsome young lancer cadet was not used to this kind of treatment. “You shouldn’t be up here if you can’t keep your balance!” he accused.

“Oh, just leave me alone, Grif!” Jathia snapped. She dusted herself off and checked her robes for any sign of tears. The woodmoth silk was strong, but even the slightest weakness could prove fatal. “Unlike some girls I could mention, I have no interest in your silly games.”

Grif scowled at her. “I always knew you weren’t  _normal_ ”.

Jathia felt a blush coming to her cheeks and pulled on her helmet to cover it.

“Would you like your thank you kiss now?” she asked acidly.

Grif shivered. “No, thank you.” He shook his head. “Why don’t you go and kiss the banderbear?” He dug his heels into Dannez and the prowlgrin leaped away.

Jathia stood silently for a long moment. Her long isolation from others of her own age was not entirely a matter of choice. In Uffel’s care she had grown wary of strangers and she found it hard to deal with people; especially with people as confident as Griff. Perhaps that was why she preferred the company of Jekkel, for all that Uffle did not trust him.

*

It was with a heavy heart that Jathia began preparing the  _Caterbird_  for launch, but excitement at her forthcoming project soon welled up again and displaced her troubles. In her anticipation, she did not hear Jekkel approaching.

“Hello, Mistress Jathia,” the Shryke-mate purred in his quavering, obsequious voice. “I trust this morning finds you well.”

“Very well, Jekkel,” Jathia replied. “Everything is ready. Do you like the Twilight Suit?”

“You look radiant, Mistress Jathia.”

“That was not quite what I meant,” Jathia sighed.

“Oh.” Jekkel paused for a moment, obviously trying to find the right words. “It is… a masterful piece of engineering.”

Jathia shook her head. “You don’t have to bow and scrape anymore, Jekkel.”

“I know that, Mistress Jathia, although it is very kind of you to remind me.”

It was only a matter of months since Jekkel had escaped from the Shryke Roosts and made his way to the Freeglades, and servility – especially to females – was still very much a part of his temperament. Jathia liked the fact that he was quiet, but she did not enjoy being fawned over.

Uffle insisted that Jekkel could not be trusted, that he was too new to the Freeglades for anyone to be sure that he was not a spy for the Shrykes. The fierce warrior race had suffered a calamitous defeat at the hands of the fleeing Librarians and Undertowners and they were sure not to have forgiven. Uffle had once been a slave in the Shryke Roosts and had seen first hand the lengths to which some Shryke-mates would go to prove themselves.

Jathia on the other hand had lived free all her life and never learned suspicion. Caution, yes, but not suspicion; not the fear of a free creature once caged. She trusted Jekkel because he was open and friendly, if a little too eager to please. Beside, he was critical to the experiment.

“Climb on behind me,” she told him.

“Is it safe, Mistress Jathia?”

“Of course. Any Sky-Craft can carry two if they’re light enough. I’m the smallest pilot in the Freeglades and you have hollow Shryke bones.”

“If you say so, Mistress Jathia.” Warily, the Shryke-mate climbed into the saddle behind Jathia.

Jathia pulled on her helmet and adjusted the filters in the eyepiece lenses for maximum visibility.

“Is it safe?” Jekkel asked again.

“I told you…”

“I mean this garment of yours. This experiment?”

Jathia turned and smiled at him, although the reassuring effect was lost behind the skullpelt’s skeletal leer. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

“That’s why you’re here. If the filters fail, you can lead me back to safety.”

“But what if you fight me, Mistress?”

“You’re stronger than me, Jekkel. You can carry me if you have to. I give you permission,” she added, and when he still looked unhappy with the idea: “I am  _ordering_  you to carry me, if it comes to that. Alright?”

“I… If I must, Mistress, then I must,” Jekkel agreed reluctantly.

“Good. Then let’s go.” Jathia cast off the mooring rope and kicked the  _Caterbird_  away from the gantry. She hauled on the tolley ropes and guided her craft easily out into clear skies.

From the branch of a luftwood tree, Grif watched them go. He leaned down and scratched the top of Dannez’s huge head. “Now, where do you think they’re going?” he asked.

*

The Twilight Woods stretched away before the  _Caterbird_ ’s prow, wreathed as ever in shimmering fog. There was a power in those woods which robbed creatures of their senses, blinded them to pain and loss; left them with nothing that could be recognised as life, yet denied them even the final kindness of death.

It was a power that closed the straight way to the ruins of Sanctaphrax and Undertown, forcing scouts to detour through the deadly Edgelands. More importantly, it was also a bar to the acquisition of new reserves of stormphrax. The enemies of the Freeglades had managed to mine the precious substance using the Twilight Woods’ own victims, the nameless ones, but enslaving those poor, mindless creatures was not something that the Freegladers could do.

If the Freeglades were to lead the way into the Third Age of Flight, it was essential that they have stormphrax. Many academics had tried to find ways to enter the Twilight Woods in safety, but there remained only one race on the Edge who could walk those misty paths with impunity: the Shrykes.

Jathia tethered the  _Caterbird_  at the top of a tall copperwood tree. Jekkel lowered her to the ground and then drew up the rope and scrambled down the trunk of the copperwood. Jathia was a fine climber, but she could not take the risk that her suit might be torn. She was sweating like a trog under her impermeable sheath, but whatever humours or pollens caused the Twilight Woods’ hypnotising influence should be kept out. If the cause were visual, then the filtering lenses in her helmet’s eyepieces should protect her. The mouth of the mask was guarded by layers of tilderwool impregnated with glitterweed nectar to keep her mind sharp. Soft plugs stopped her ears in case there was a sound that brought about the effect.

Jathia waited patiently while Jekkel applied a sealing layer of gyleglue rubber to the neck of her garment.

“Alright; I’ll go in and you follow me closely,” Jathia said.

“Of course, Mistress.”

Jathia reached up, lowered all of the filter lenses and walked into the Twilight Woods. She walked forward for a count of fifty paces. The trees closed around her. In her skullpelt helmet, she could only see straight in front of her; it was disconcerting, especially to someone used to the unlimited vistas open to a Sky Craft pilot.

After fifty paces, she turned to look at Jekkel and saw her own trail stretching back behind him. Experimentally she lifted the eye filters; the trail wavered by did not vanish. When she closed the lenses and released her mouthpiece to allow a little unfiltered air into the mask, the trail wavered a little more.

Jathia stumbled a little. Her fingers shook as she tried to refasten the mask, and Jekkel hurried to help her with the catches. Jathia took a deep breath, inhaling the sharp scent of glitterweed nectar.

The path continued to waver and she stumbled forward, hoping to get clear before she was overcome. Jekkel took her arm and guided her out of the wood.

Jathia tore of the mask and gulped down the fresh air. Slowly, the haze left her vision.

“Are you alright, Mistress Jathia?” Jekkel asked.

She nodded. “Just. Thank you. I think the filters worked, but I wasn’t able to test all the factors. The influence works through vision and inhalation; I don’t know about skin contact or hearing, but we can test those another time.”

Jekkel shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not, Mistress.”

Jathia frowned. “Why not? What…?”

An ugly, raucous laugh rolled across the clearing. Jathia looked around in alarm as three Shryke warriors emerged from the trees. Two appeared behind Jekkel, swinging long-chained flails in their taloned hands. The third was larger, and instead of a flail it was a leash and collar that hung from her belt.

Jathia drew the long knife from her belt. “Run, Jekkel!” she cried. She slashed at the Shryke leader and turned to follow him, but he stayed exactly where he was and caught hold of her as she ran into him.

“Hold her, Jekkel,” the big Shryke croaked.

“Yes, Mistress,” Jekkel fawned.

“Jekkel!” Jathia wailed, but the Shryke-mate gripped her arms tight until one of the smaller Shryke warriors came to take her. She gripped Jathia’s wrist in a cruel talon and shook the knife from her hand.

At the same time Jekkel bent his head so that the tallest Shryke could fix the collar around his neck. She leaned over him and tugged a clump of feathers from the nape of his neck. So Jathia’s horror, Jekkel crooned in delight at this treatment.

“What about this one, Sister Japequill?” the warrior holding Jathia asked.

Sister Japequill looked up reluctantly from the possessive grooming of her mate. She fixed her glittering gaze on Jathia and her black eyes burned with hatred. She stalked towards the girl, leading Jekkel by his leash.

“You!” she hissed. “You Librarians and Undertowners and Freegladers destroyed our greatest flocks. You all-but wiped us out, drove us out of our Deepwoods roosts into the only safe refuge that remained to us; the only place that no-one could follow. Now  _you_  come, a precocious fledgling, to lead the invasion of the Twilight Roost. If my clever darling had not insinuated himself into your trust…”

“Jekkel, no!” Jathia was appalled. “I trusted you.”

“I am very sorry, Mistress Jathia, but my loyalty is to Mistress Japequill.” He reached into his belt pouch and drew out a sheaf of papers. “Her notes, Mistress.”

“No! That’s my life’s work.”

“And with them destroyed, no-one will be able to repeat your work,” Sister Japequill said. She released Jekkel’s leash and flexed her talons. “I shall take great satisfaction in destroying the original construction  _and_  its creator.”

The first slash of her talons raked across Jathia’s cheek, barely drawing blood. The second ripped open the suit and cut burning lines of pain along the girl’s belly. Jathia could see nothing but Sister Japequill as the Shryke drew both hands back for a third strike. Her beak gaped wide in a cry of fury. Her tongue protruded, thick and brown and sharp and…

And it was not a tongue, but the point of a lance, and the world flooded back to Jathia’s senses. She heard Jekkel give a howl of fury and pain and saw a prowlgrin land heavily in the undergrowth at her side.

With his lance lodged in Sister Japequill’s head, the rider drew his sword. The blade whistled over Jathia’s head and sliced the head from the Shryke who held her.

Jathia was released and fell to her knees in the grass; her knife lay close by. She looked up and saw Jekkel at his mate’s side. He looked up and saw Jathia, and then looked down at the papers in his talon. With a look of poisonous rage he lifted the notes and grasped them in both hands.

“No!” Jathia felt the hilt of her knife under her hand and grasped it. She ran at the Shryke-mate with the knife held low, but had hardly pushed to her feet when he tore the notes into pieces.

Jathia reached out towards Jekkel. She caught his wrist as he raised his talons to strike her. Her momentum carried her into him.

“Freegladers,” Jekkel gasped. He gripped her throat with his free hand. “You destroy… Everything.” And then he fell back, dead, with Jathia’s knife buried to the hilt in his feathered breast.

“Jath!”

Feeling numb, Jathia turned towards the young lancer who was battling desperately against the last Shryke. With the advantage of surprise gone, he was hard-pressed by the veteran warrior. It was with some surprise that Jathia recognised the bold fighter as the swaggering braggart Griffin.

“Dannez, ha!”

With incredible agility the prowlgrin sprang sideways and landed next to Jathia. Griff reached down and this time Jathia caught the proffered hand and let him haul her up into the saddle in front of him.

“Up!” Griff commanded and Dannez sprang into the trees.

“Copperwood!” Jathia gasped. “ _Caterbird_.”

Griff made no reply beyond a wordless grunt, but after a few moments Dannez came to rest alongside the tethered sky-craft.  
Jathia sprang down into the boughs and hurried to ready the  _Caterbird_ for flight.

“I, ah…” Jathia struggled to order her thoughts. The routine of setting the  _Caterbird_ ’s lines helped immensely. “Thank you, Griff. You…” She turned to him and froze; the young man was bent over in his saddle, blood pouring from his side where a spiked ball – a parting gift from the Shryke – had pierced his armour and lodged in his side.

“Griff!” Jathia ran to his side. He groaned when she touched him. Hurriedly, she released the catches of his harness. “No you don’t,” she muttered. “I won’t let you die and leave me in your debt.”

With a great deal of effort she hauled him from his saddle and over to the  _Caterird_.

“Stop struggling you fool; you’ll have us both out of the branches and…”

A raucous cry from below showed that the Shryke had found them. A series of answering cries showed that she had brought friends.

With a surge of energy, Jathia manoeuvred Griff into the  _Caterbird_ ’s saddle and strapped him in.

“Dannez! Go. Get back to your branch. I’ll bring Griff.”

Dannez crooned uncertainly.

“Go!” Jathia sprang into her own saddle and cast off the tethers. As the Sky-Craft lifted into the air, she saw the prowlgrin follow across the treetops and sighed with relief.

“You’re very strong,” Griff mumbled.

“And you’re very stubborn,” Jathia replied. “But this time you really did save my life.” She twisted in her harness and leaned back to kiss Griff gently on the lips. Then she quickly turned away so that he could not see her blush.

“I could say the same,” he groaned. “I suppose I owe you a kiss.”

Jathia hunched over her controls. “That can wait,” she said quickly. “We need to get you to a healer and then I need to try to remember as much as I can about how I made the lenses and filters for my suit. Oh, this robe is ruined and I dropped the helmet.”

Griff slumped forward against her back; Jathia squirmed to shake him off, but not much.

“Why bother?” Griff muttered. “Who wants to go into the Twilight?”

“There are Shrykes gathering there and we need to know what they are planning. We need people to go in and spy out the land.”

Griff murmured weakly.

“What?”

“Twilight Scouts,” he repeated.

“Yes,” Jathia agreed patiently. “Twilight Scouts. Hmm,” she mused. “I wonder if I could make a suit to protect a prowlgrin.”


End file.
